THE VOW

Chapter One: The Vow

The rain poured over Naples like it had been waiting for this exact day to weep.

Inside the grand cathedral, light filtered through stained glass windows, casting bloody reds and icy blues over the crowd. The pews were filled with stone-faced men in designer suits and glittering women whose smiles were carved in diamonds. The Romano wedding wasn’t just a union—it was a declaration of power.

Elena stood at the altar, her fingers trembling around the silk bouquet. Her gown was hand-stitched lace, ivory like the moonlight, the corset squeezing her ribs until she could barely breathe. But none of it was as suffocating as the man standing beside her.

Marco Romano.

The groom.

Her soon-to-be husband.

He stood like sin incarnate in a black tailored suit, the collar of his shirt just loose enough to show the inked edge of a tattoo curling up his neck. His hair was slicked back, his jaw dusted in a rough shadow. His hands were large, veined, and twitching—as though even now, at the altar, he was fighting the urge to touch her.

To claim her.

When he looked at her, it wasn’t with love.

It was hunger.

"I vow to protect you," Marco said, voice low and thunderous, sending a shiver down her spine. "To provide for you. To punish you when necessary. To own every inch of you—heart, body, and soul—for as long as we both breathe."

Gasps rippled from the crowd. Elena's breath caught. That wasn’t the vow they agreed on. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the priest continued. "Do you, Elena DeLuca, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I… I do.”

God help me.

When their lips met, it wasn’t gentle.

Marco kissed her like a man who had waited his entire life to devour his prize. His fingers laced through the back of her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. She could feel his control wrapping around her like silk and steel.

And somehow, horrifyingly…

She liked it.

Hours later, Elena stood in the penthouse Marco had prepared for their wedding night. The bedroom was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, candles flickering along the walls, shadows dancing like ghosts. The bed was a black velvet monster in the center of the room, draped in red silk sheets.

She turned when she heard the click of the door.

Marco stepped inside, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes never left hers.

"Take it off," he said.

Elena blinked. “What?”

He stalked forward, jaw tight. “The dress. Take it off. Or I will.”

Her hands trembled as she reached for the zipper. He watched in silence, eyes dark with desire and something more dangerous. When the dress finally slipped to the floor, he let out a low growl and stepped forward, pressing her against the windowpane.

"Everyone in Naples saw you become mine today," he whispered against her neck. "But only I get to see you like this."

He kissed her throat, then bit gently. She whimpered.

“Marco—”

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice rough with restraint. “Good. You should be. But you should also know this…”

His fingers slipped between her thighs, parting her slowly. She gasped, her body betraying her fear with need.

“I’ll never let you go. You can run, you can scream, but in the end—” he pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and punishing, “—you’ll still crawl back to me.”

And when he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and took her with all the violence of a man starved, Elena realized something terrifying:

She didn’t want to escape.

She wanted more.

[End of Chapter One]

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